


Rules

by edibleflowers



Series: Only God Knows Why [4]
Category: Popslash
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laying down the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rules

**Author's Note:**

> No smut in this one, but I'll give it an R rating anyway for sexual and adult situations, and the usual slashy mentions. And language. (How the hell did angst get into it? Grr.)
> 
> This was the second fic written in this series, "Denial" being the first, which is why they're only establishing rules just now. The narrator is the original female character, Kristen.

"So there are some ground rules," I tell Chris that night, after we've laid waste to a bottle of wine and a small basket of chocolate eggs. Foil wrappers litter the floor where we've idly tossed them. I'm feeling replete with liquor, sex, and chocolate: all a girl really needs.

"I know what we need." Chris scrambles up from the bed, bends naked to rummage in the mini-fridge. I watch, amused. He has a nice ass, toned, good for groping and other things. He emerges with two tiny plastic bottles of Jack, tosses one to me before plopping down on the bed again. Across the room, the television glares soundlessly, its bright flashing imagery our only source of illumination.

"Okay." He uncaps his bottle, so I do the same with mine. We both swig, making identical faces as the whiskey burns down throats and into stomachs. "Rules," he says.

"Ground rules," I say.

"Shoot," he says, rubbing a hand on my bare knee.

"I don't perform."

"Okay."

"No me getting it on with another girl because you want to watch. Or with a guy. Or any of the guys. If I don't feel like playing, I don't play. If you don't feel like playing, you don't play. There will be safety words. No one does anything they don't want to."

Chris nods. "Anything else?"

I sip at my whiskey. It'd be better on the rocks, but it's not bad out of a chilled plastic bottle while sitting naked in bed next to Chris Kirkpatrick. "Protection," I say, amazed that my mind is as functional as it is. "Everyone, every single time. Last thing we need is a nice breakout of herpes or something."

"Good call," Chris says, shuddering a little. "What if you, uh, want to be with another girl?"

I chuckle. "What's it to you? I don't care if you get it on with some random stranger."

"But, uh, what if I want to watch?" His eyes gleam. I get the feeling he really doesn't care about watching.

"Perv." I push at his hip with my toe. "If everything worked out, I don't care. It's being put on display that I have a problem with."

"Gotcha." He slugs back more Jack until his bottle is empty. Mine's only half-full, but I'm feeling way too buzzed as it is, so I put the bottle aside and try to focus on the television.

"I have a rule," he says.

"Yeah?"

He tosses the bottle aside and crawls up next to me. "No favorites."

That seems fair. "Okay."

"And you have to give Justin a chance."

"Chris--"

"I know you don't like him."

"I do, it's not that. I'm not attracted to him, okay? We've been over this."

"Jesus, Kristen--"

 _Fuck_. I get up. The room spins around me. "Did he fucking put you up to this?" I demand. "Did he?"

Chris says nothing. I grab my clothes and start pulling them on.

"Kristen--" he starts, when I'm dressed.

"No, Chris, that's not fair." I don't look at him, because I know he's got the kicked-puppy look going for him right now. "I don't care if he likes me. He'll get over it. I don't want to sleep with him. Didn't I just say that's a ground rule? Didn't I?"

He glares at me. I glare back. He's dangerously attractive like this, nude and fiery, but I'm immune right now thanks to being hideously angry at him.

"I just don't see what the problem is--" he starts and I growl.

"God fucking dammit, Chris, if you want him to have sex, you can fucking fuck him for all I care." I grab my bag and leave, slamming the door behind me. Anything he says, I ignore. I really don't care, not right now.

In my room, it's blessedly quiet. I change into a comfortable set of pajamas, lock the door, turn the phone's ringer off, and find the book I'd been trying to read on the bus. I can hear some commotion going on outside, though it doesn't seem to be much more than the usual stuff. Someone pounds on my door. I focus on my book, though I keep having to drag my attention back to the first paragraph. Things quiet down outside and I finally get down to some reading.

There's a softer knock on the door, almost a scratch. I recognize the tone but it takes me a minute to decide whether I feel like talking.

I unlock the door long enough to let Lance in. He looks tired, pale, and I know he's probably been calming Chris down. He keeps a wary look while circling around me. I lock the door behind him and lay back down on the bed.

"So, uh, you want to talk?" He sits down on the second bed, pushing a small pile of clothes out of the way.

"Do you want me to apologize about pissing Chris off?" I ask. "Because that isn't going to happen."

"I know." He scrapes a hand through his limp hair. "He told me about the rules discussion. It sounds like a good idea."

"Glad you approve," I mutter.

"Just having something sort of official, you know. But you know why he's upset, right?"

I curl into the pillow clutched to my chest. "He thinks I should give Justin a chance."

"It's not really that so much." Lance moves easily to my bed, his hands cupped between his thighs. "You've been with all of us except him. He feels left out. It's not really helping the whole group dynamic."

"Only you could say that and not sound completely corny." I have to chuckle, despite my mood. "But I just don't want to, and I mean, I'm not here to be some kind of sex toy or plaything for you guys. It's my prerogative." I can't help but feeling a little whiny as I say that, though.

Lance's mouth curls up in a half-smile, one I'd always found devastatingly attractive. "Yeah, I know. You're not explaining anything to me I don't already know. And I think it's good to have things spelled out."

I nod, feeling dark, and lower my head to the pillow. This was all just supposed to be fun. No harm, no foul, just play. Why does it always have to get complicated?

Lance reaches for me, pulls me into an embrace. I relax against him, melancholy. His hands are warm and soothing on my back. He smells a little like sex. I wonder if the yelling interrupted him and JC, but decide that we probably didn't -- he'd be much more upset if they'd been in the middle of things.

* * *

I keep this in the back of my mind: it's all for fun. That's how it started out, when I joined the tour. I've known Chris for just about forever; we both worked at Universal back in the day, he singing, me in a less glamorous position in food service. We went out on a few dates back then, but it never amounted to much more than passionate groping in the back of a car. But we kept in touch when he started the group, and when they started getting big in Europe, he asked me to come along to do their makeup and stuff. I thought, what the hell, paid vacation to Europe, and went.

Actually, since they were still on a tight budget, I ended up paying a lot out of my own pocket, and not seeing very much of Europe except what could be glimpsed out of bus windows. My primary memory is of the wet-dog smell that pervaded that first bus, and how I could never really get to sleep on it.

The guys were cool. They still had growing to do, growing into awkward bodies and future looks, but I liked them and we got along well. JC and I first sparked an intriguing chemistry that, at some point, we decided to play with. It was fun until Joey burst into the hotel room and found us in flagrante delicto. Well, that was awkward; then JC invited Joey to join us and things got better.

We didn't talk about it, but I found them both in my bed a lot. It was good. Later, Chris found out. He was mad. I couldn't convince him that I'd been a willing participant, so I showed him instead. After that, he was content.

It was close quarters, and the play was bound to spill over. I didn't think anything of it when I saw Justin and Lance kissing -- tentative, sweet, exploratory kisses, as if they were trying to see what Chris and JC saw in each other. Time passed, boundaries loosened as the intimacy of knowledge spread to all of us. I'd been with all of them, different ways, different times, up until now. All except Justin.

Yeah, I can see why Justin is mad. And Chris upset on his behalf. I guess I can't blame him. But what am I supposed to do about it? Sleep with him? Would that make things better?

* * *

Lance eventually lets me go, with a final hug and a soft, reassuring kiss. _At least he's not mad at me_ , I think glumly and pile myself into bed.

The next morning, we're back on the bus. I'm told by Chris to get on the second one, so I do, assuming that he knows whereof he speaks. God, I'm a moron sometimes. I find a bunk. While tossing my bag into it, I see, across the aisle, Justin and JC curled into the opposite bunk together. They're both sound asleep, both still in their clothes -- two sets of shoes piled on the floor indicate how far they got in undressing -- and Justin is pressed back into JC, who's curled around him, one arm over his waist. He's holding him possessively, protectively. They remind me of puppies, piled together for warmth. I wonder if Chris wanted me to see this. Probably. Asshole.

I grab my bag to go get on the other bus, but then we lurch into motion and I'm stuck. Shit. I'm too tired to get on the phone and yell at Chris, so I climb into the bunk and fall asleep immediately.

When I wake up, the angle of the sun has changed, dim through the curtain; and I'm surrounded by warmth. Sometime while I was asleep, the puppies crawled across the aisle and into my bunk. JC's nose is pressed to my shoulder, and he sleeps with a slack-mouthed innocence that never fails to amuse me. I don't need to look behind me to know that Justin's arms are around me, heavy and warm with sleep -- the boy's temperature must go up twenty degrees when he's unconscious. I feel a clench of tenderness and stamp it down ruthlessly. " _No favorites_ ," Chris had said. Maybe I wouldn't tell him about this little incident.

Content and dizzy with the need for more rest, I curl up in the tangle of limbs and sleep again. Puppies, is my last amused thought.


End file.
